


Cover Me If There's a Fire

by nightanddaze



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Growing Up, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightanddaze/pseuds/nightanddaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has too much on his mind. He just doesn’t have enough time to keep track of everything: malicious wolves, stupid teenagers, and the fact that Isaac’s starting to have heats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Me If There's a Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to blame this one someone else, but I'm the one who wanted it. Title from “You Burn First” by Alexisonfire. Huge thanks to [singlesrvngfrend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/singlesrvngfrend/pseuds/singlesrvngfrend) for covering my ass and indulging my whims. And [amberlynne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amberlynne/profile), thanks for not being startled when I randomly yelled word counts.

At first, it's hardly anything. Isaac is tired for a day or two, more irritable than he might be. Derek doesn't even notice. He's up to his neck in problems: Peter, the Alpha pack, Erica and Boyd. Even Scott and Stiles bumbling around is something to contend with, so he doesn't have time to pay attention to Isaac being under the weather.

If anything, it's less lip to listen to.

*

The first time it's a problem is when they have scouting to do and it's almost impossible to drag Isaac out of bed. He blinks at Derek, looking hungover even though it's almost two and he can't get hungover anymore. 

Isaac tips his head back, groaning, "Can't you take Peter?"

"No," Derek says, and kicks the bed. Isaac groans again, eyes shut tight. "Peter's useless. And you need to learn to track better. I won't always be there to help you find things."

Isaac breathes heavily for a moment before sitting up slowly. He rubs the back of his neck. In the light, he looks a little sallow.

Derek looks out the window while Isaac pulls on a t-shirt.

"Don't stay up so late," he chastises absently. 

*

Isaac turns seventeen before it happens again. They don't do anything to celebrate. Isaac tells Derek it's his birthday, but shrugs after he says it, like it's just a thing, a fact.

"Well," Derek says uneasily, remembering long-ago parties: birthday cakes blurry with candlelight and smiling, singing faces. "Happy birthday?"

Isaac hikes up his backpack. Derek’s not sure he’s ever had a birthday party. "Thanks," he says, before he leaves for school.

*

He comes home with a cupcake, the blue frosting crispy from sitting in a grocery store cooler. The pricetag has been scratched off the plastic clamshell.

He sets it on the counter, close to the newspaper Derek's reading.

"Lyndsay - my math partner - gave it to me," he says, when Derek looks up. He's trying to hide his pleasure but failing. His eyes are soft, kind, and his mouth is trembling with the effort of not smiling.

Derek folds the paper. "That was nice of her." He looks at it. One of the edges has been smudged, a small amount of frosting swiped off, a mouthful. There's a matching smear on the edge of the container. "Saving it?"

Isaac looks at it, hungry in a way unrelated to food. "Yeah," he says slowly, "I didn't..."

_Want to share_ , Derek thinks. Or, _know what to do with it_.

"That's fine," Derek tells him. "It's yours."

"I can share it," Isaac insists.

Derek shakes his head. He should have been the one to buy it. He feels for his wallet. "D'you want to have pizza for dinner?"

There’s still time.

*

The next time is when Derek becomes aware of it. Isaac is slow to move for a few days, layering on sweaters during the day even though it's unseasonably warm and then stripping down at night. Twice, Derek bumps into him in the hall on the way to the bathroom. Both times he's shocked by the touch of too much skin. 

"Isaac," he says sharply, the second time, annoyed that Isaac just keeps moving dreamily back into his room, his bare back smelling like sweat.

He stays edgy, all the time, until one day Isaac is up around dawn, shirtless, drinking milk out of the carton to the sound of the washing machine, and then he feels fine.

*

Peter drops in that same day, probably to finish the milk and make sure they haven’t forgotten him. 

“Hello, darlings,” he calls, but by the time he makes it to the living room where they can see him, his face is screwed up in distaste.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, nostrils flaring.

Derek looks around. The sun is setting, making it hard to see the news on TV. Isaac is bent over his homework, ignoring Peter.

Derek glares. “No?”

Peter huffs, looking between him and Isaac for a second. “Well, fine then,” he murmurs, and continues on. Derek listens to him open the fridge and start rummaging.

Isaac catches his eye and lets Derek see the whites of his when he rolls them.

Derek smirks back at him.

*

The next time is when Derek finally _remembers_. 

It’s been a few months, long enough that any of Isaac’s troubles have faded from Derek’s mind, replaced by the tightening circle of the Alpha pack. But, before the full moon, Isaac gets a little slow, sleepy-eyed, grouchy. No matter how many times Derek snaps _Do this, move faster, wake up_ , Isaac just slumps along, driving Derek crazy.

On the night the moon finally crests, Derek tells Peter to meet them at the school and drags Isaac out of the house.

“We’re running,” he tells Isaac. Isaac sighs and leans on the window, his throat white in the light of the moon.

Peter meets them in the parking lot, dressed in some ungodly ugly tracksuit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he scolds Derek. “I have to dress my best for a family occasion. Plus, it was expensive.”

“Whatever.” Derek rolls his eyes and shakes out his pelt. Beside him, Isaac shifts too, yawning as his fangs come out. His jaw cracks and he opens it so wide his yellow eyes are barely visible.

Peter watches Isaac change, his expression staying curious even as his face contorts and resettles. Isaac shifts his shoulders, a little life coming back into his eyes, and Peter looks to Derek.

As a born wolf, Derek’s senses are just as good when he’s appearing human as when he’s a wolf, but when he’s under the light of the moon, everything blends better, makes more sense.

So when he takes a breath, to scent for nearby humans, the smell coming from Isaac doesn’t catch him off-guard, exactly, but the way his body rolls to attention does. Isaac smells odd: musky on top, with something red and moist underneath. It’s like a wound, but faint, coming from no specific place.

“Ready?” Isaac asks, oblivious, rubbing his nose on his wrist.

Derek exhales, turning his face toward the forest, where it smells cool and empty. “Yeah,” he says, and starts moving.

Peter comes up behind him and bumps their shoulders, nodding at Derek, sharing some secret. Derek shrugs him off.

*

They’re not alone for long. Things are just starting to get comfortable, the three of them spread throughout the trees, running hard, when a howl splits the air. Derek skids to a stop, claws ripping into the bark of a tree.

“Alphas,” Peter says from twenty paces away.

Derek snarls. On Peter’s left side, Isaac is silent.

Another howl cuts through the forest, a little closer. Derek moves in Peter’s direction and finds him crouched next to Isaac, a hand on his shoulder to force him down. He takes Isaac’s other side and together he and Peter map out the Alphas: four of them, a couple hundred feet away. Probably aware of their presence.

A large part of Derek longs to fight, sick of chasing Alpha tail around. He feels aggressive, ready to go, but beside him Isaac still smells hurt and Peter is pointing back the way they came, so Derek stands, and as easy as he can, starts leading them.

Around them, the natural sounds of the woods die down, everything going preternaturally quiet. Derek can hear Isaac’s rough breathing, the rustling of the pack behind them.

It’s so quiet he can hear them talking at the spot they left behind.

“Here,” a male voice says.

“Hah!” A woman answers. “Can you smell that? One of them, one of those younger ones. He’s _ripe_.”

Derek feels, more than sees, Peter push Isaac along ahead of them.

The four wolves rumble amongst themselves, and then the woman calls, “Let’s find them. I want to play with him.”

“Me too,” another voice says, and then breaks out into a howl, hungry. The sound sends a cold shiver flying down Derek’s spine, brings his shoulders down into an aggressive duck.

“Go!” Derek says, not caring how loud he says it or how hard he shoves Isaac. “Run!”

Isaac stumbles away, legs jellied. Derek gets hands on Peter, pushes him after Isaac. “Take him. I’ll distract them.”

Peter takes off, a rough hand on Isaac’s sleeve, dragging him along.

Derek turns, and howls back at the Alphas, challenging them.

*

He runs hard for hours, dodging the Alphas, but never getting far enough away that they lose interest. They’re stronger, he knows, but these are his woods and that knowledge is his power.

Still, by midnight, he’s tasting blood, bent double, trying to listen for the scratch of nails on hard ground.

In the distance, some animal growls. Even further away, a truck starts up. The Alphas yelp and call to each other, and the truck roars over them.

Derek waits until he’s sure they’re gone, kneeling in the grass, a hand pressed to his sore ribs.

*

The television is on when Derek drags himself into the house. The lights are off. Derek follows the sound of the news and the conversation murmur.

They're in the living room, Peter and Isaac. Both of them are sitting on the couch, grey from the TV. Peter's leaning in while Isaac leans out.

“Later, it will help you bond,” Peter is saying, “ _mate_ , but for now, it’s just your body working out the kinks.”

“Why?” Isaac asks, voice small.

"Sorry, kid," Peter says, as gentle as he gets, which sounds false as hell, "it sucks, I know. But it’s how werewolves work."

Isaac shakes his head, and seeing Derek, looks to him for help.

"What are you talking about?" Derek snaps.

Peter looks at him blankly, then squints. "Isaac," he says slowly. "His heats."

Isaac makes a weak sound at that, putting his face in his palm briefly. Peter is still squinting at Derek, who's finding it hard to know how to react. Something tickles in his mind, way back there, but all he does is stare at Peter.

Peter throws up a hand. " _Derek_. Did you take a knock on the head out there? Heat? You've never spoken to Isaac or the others about this? It's kind of important."

Derek stays silent.

Looking exasperated, Peter speaks slower. "Werewolf puberty. Like being a human teenager, but with more teeth." He considers. "And sex."

Derek's face furrows. The tickle is forming into something else now, foggy, indistinct feelings, memories. Isaac and Peter watch his face.

“You haven’t noticed anything different about Isaac? He gets tired, restless. The _smell_?”

Isaac makes a choking noise, looks down, his fist stuffed in his armpit.

“Sorry, kid,” Peter says carelessly. “You smell. Don’t worry though, it’s mostly a good smell. Wolves like it.”

“Oh,” Isaac says faintly, into his own chest. “How. How long?”

“Everyone’s different, but a couple of years. Things’ll smooth out when you’re twenty or so. Really, Derek,” Peter turns to him again, “you couldn’t have warned him? He’ll be easier to control if he knows what’s happening. I know that’s not your style, but really.”

“Control?” Isaac says.

"I..." Derek can remember a scratched door, long nights, feeling like he might come right out of his skin. "I didn't remember."

"And another thing," Peter says to Isaac, "it's hard on your body, like human puberty, but it fades, physically and mentally, just like human puberty. You'll probably remember more than Derek though. He had a lot going on then."

Isaac nods, looking terrified. "'Til I'm twenty."

"Give or take," Peter says, "and it'll get worse before it gets better."

Isaac closes his eyes, embarrassed. His Adam’s apple bobs sharply in his throat.

*  
Derek kicks Peter out right after he clasps Isaac on the shoulder and says, "You can always talk to me,” in a paternal, oil-slick voice. He locks the door after Peter, slides the deadbolt over so he can't get back in.

When he walks back into the living room, Isaac is standing between the television and the couch. He half-turns toward the stairs when Derek crosses the threshold.

"Sorry," Derek says.

"I-" Isaac answers. He's blushing so bad his face looks blue in this light.

"I didn't remember," Derek says. "To tell you and the others. It's...not very clear in my mind. I didn’t even think of it."

Isaac looks away, at the carpet. "Will it be bad?"

"I don't know," Derek lies. "Why don't you go to bed? You have school tomorrow."

*

He stays up late, just sitting there on the couch, thinking. He tries to remember. Some things get clearer: the disarray in his room, claw marks on his mattress and the inside of the door. The rough, awful voice he begged for relief in, his embarrassment. But a lot of it stays soft, muddled. He can't recall how his body felt, how _he_ felt. He spends hours trying to think of how he can put any of it into words, to make Isaac feel better, but everything escapes him.

He goes to bed before Isaac gets up, to avoid having nothing to say.

*

For a few weeks, Isaac keeps himself separate, although he's totally fine. He smells normal, electric with worry about his body, but still like the teenager Derek lives with.

Derek still doesn't know how to reassure him. His parents, Laura, and Peter took it all in stride when he was younger. They knew when to ignore him and when to bring it up, always tactful, gentle. 

Once, when Isaac is sitting at the far end of the kitchen table, dragging his fork through his microwave mashed potatoes, Derek tries.

"Isaac," he says. 

Isaac's cheek twitches, but after a long beat he puts the fork down, still marring his dinner. He looks up.

"Look," Derek starts, "I know that this is weird, but you're gonna have to get used to it."

It's the wrong thing to say. Derek realizes that once his tone makes Isaac's face pinch.

"How am I," Isaac retorts, "going to "get used to" being more horny than I already am, so horny I'll be _like an animal_?"

Derek makes a noise, clucking. "That was Peter, being a dick."

Isaac jerks, his fork tearing through the potato mush, clacking on the plate. "You weren't there," he accuses. "He told me everything. 'Oh, Isaac, you won't be able to stop yourself. It’ll be so bad you'll fuck anyone. You'll do anything, to anyone.' He laughed. Said it wouldn't be a good time."

"Yeah, well, it's not the best-"

Isaac stands up, going for the stairs. "I'm tired of being a fucking animal!" he yells. His feet are hard and the metal stairs clang alarmingly as he goes up.

Derek waits to blow his breath out. He doesn't remember being this difficult, although he probably was.

*

The memories are slow to come, but Derek has time to sift through everything. He avoids the tender, burnt place inside of him that concerns the fire, and the prickly, scarred place from Kate, and just tries to remember all the times that are foggy and sweat-soaked.

There’s no reason for them to be so distant; there’s nothing particularly painful about them. The memories are embarrassing, but unremarkable. Time and hormonal fog, Derek thinks.

He spends long nights tracing his experiences. The first touches of it when he was entering high school: the insatiable tiredness, feeling so sore, all over, like his body was growing every time he inhaled. Months later, starting to really feel it, the aimless attraction to everyone. Wanting, all the time, no matter how much he jerked off, getting worse and worse for days, until suddenly it stopped.

The pattern held, until it didn’t. He went crazy every few months, then he didn’t, for a long time. It was worse when it happened, like being thrown into a dark, hot pit alone. He wanted so much so badly, and it was hard, so fucking hard to feel better, even though he thought he’d learned all the tricks. 

He can remember, horrifyingly, crying to Peter once, his hands cramped and his belly terrifyingly hot and empty.

“You need help,” Peter had said, in the kind way he could still be back then. “Someone has to help you,”

Derek had put his face in his pillow that night, his teeth sharp and his hand hard on his dick, until he’d managed to make himself come, come so thick on his knuckles it’d barely dripped, feeling tortured.

Still, it ended, clearing off like storm clouds, until it happened again.

He doesn’t remember when he stopped having heats, exactly. Maybe when his body got used to the idea of being mateless. He’s not sure what’s supposed to happen to him now that he’s this old, now that he’s the Alpha.

He opens up his mouth a few times, intending to say something to Isaac, but it seems silly, still so far away from him, unreal. So, he doesn't bring it up again. He buys Isaac some new shirts when one gets ruined in the woods and one turns red in the wash and leaves them on Isaac's bed. He ignores the kleenex in the garbage and the faint tang in the sheets, opening a window to wash it away.

*

Honestly, the best time to do recon about the Alphas is during the day. The town is slowly filling with their smells and Derek's almost a normal fixture in Beacon Hills now, so he can track them without raising suspicion.

He spends days walking the grocery store, wearing his sunglasses inside and going through the aisles. One of them likes Fruit Loops; the smell of simple pleasure is all over the shelf there. 

The police station is half a block away and the smells are even stronger there. One of the sides of the building even has scratches on it, big ones. Derek sees the Sheriff and one of his deputies drinking coffee in front of the marks and bitching about how the building's going to hell.

The scratches have blood in them, but they've been rained on too many times for Derek to tell where it comes from, but when he smells it for too long it rankles him in a way that makes him nervous. Still, he presses his fingers deep into the scratches, so he'll have more of the scent to memorize.

He means to bring the scent home to Isaac, to see if Isaac reacts the same way he did, see if maybe he recognizes Erica or Boyd, but when he steps into the house, that smell is the last thing on his mind.

There are shoes in front of the door, small pink flat ones, muddy, and a brown purse slumped against the closet door. The house smells like a girl’s first perfume and Isaac’s heat. Voices are coming down the stairs, muffled but rhythmic.

Cold fear and hot anger slam into Derek, shocking him into motion.

“Isaac!” he roars, standing at the bottom of the stairs before he knows it. Under his hand the railing shakes.

The sounds stop, right in the middle, then are followed by a torrent of hushed whispering. When they taper off, Derek yells again.

“Isaac! Get down here!”

Isaac’s bed creaks and there’s a flurry of little noises, culminating in the sound of Isaac’s door opening and hesitant footsteps. Derek’s glad at how little time the whole process takes.

The girl comes down first. She’s blonde, blushing horribly from her cheeks down to her shirt collar. On her throat there’s a mark, big like Isaac’s mouth, that she covers with her hand when she’s almost at the bottom of the steps.

Isaac follows her closely. His face is sweaty and he looks upset, frustrated. His body is radiating heat and that red, hurt smell. He’s got the girl’s backpack, the strap clenched in his fist.

Derek stays at the stairs while Isaac shows the girl out.

“Sorry, Lyndsay,” he murmurs, daring to touch her hair.

She nods tightly and looks to Derek.

“Do you need a ride?” Derek asks gruffly. The loft isn’t really near a lot of stuff and Derek’s mad but he’s not heartless.

“N-no,” she says, very quickly. “No, thank you.”

She and Isaac share another look and Derek thinks maybe she didn’t know who Isaac’s roommate is. But then the door is closing behind her and Derek can barely hear the rabbit-skip of Isaac’s heart over the pounding of his own.

He gets a fistful of the back of Isaac’s t-shirt, damp in his palm.

“What the hell are you doing?” He says. He shakes Isaac once, like he’s a puppy.

“Derek-“ Isaac mutters, twisting in Derek’s grip. His face flushes deeper. The skin of his nape is hot under Derek’s knuckles.

“ _What are you doing_?” Derek demands. “Playing _just the tip_ with some girl you go to summer school with? Just how stupid are you?”

“We were just _touching_. And Peter said—“ Isaac protests, craning back to look at Derek. The smell of him, the stupid look on his face, it all infuriates Derek.

“Peter said _what_? Your body’s got a few more years before it’s really ready to knock a girl up? Well, tough shit, Isaac, because it could still happen to you. And I am not dealing with that, okay?”

Feeling helpless, he shakes Isaac again, as if that could make the point sink in.

Isaac struggles against his shirt, panting, so Derek grips him by his bare nape. Isaac freezes, then drops his head, whimpering. He slumps back into Derek, going limp.

Derek squeezes him tightly. “Isaac,” he says, “are you listening to me?”

“Uh-huh,” Isaac says faintly, and something about his tone, the soft dip of it, snarls Derek up inside.

He practically tosses Isaac toward the kitchen, before he can squeeze again.

“Don’t do it again,” he says.

“Yeah,” Isaac breathes, still using that voice, standing there like a deer on ice.

Derek presses his knuckles to his mouth to will the feelings away and tastes the salt of Isaac on his skin. 

“Stay here,” he says, throwing his hand down.

In the car, he wipes his hand over his mouth unconsciously, frustrated with Isaac, with himself. The tips of his fingers, his palm, smell sugary-salty in a way that makes Derek feel uneasy, hungry. There’s nothing left of the smell Derek meant to carry home though. It’s all Isaac now.

*

A few hours later, Peter slides into the diner booth across from him.

“Having some trouble, nephew mine?’ he asks.

“No,” Derek tells him. “Leave me alone.”

Peter picks up a spoon, turns it over. “Oh, really? Because it smells like you’ve been sexiled.”

Derek makes a face.

“It means that you were made to leave because your roommate-slash-beta needed to get his jollies-“

“I know that,” Derek interrupts, once he’s heard enough. “How did you even find me?”

Peter looks up from the spoon, unimpressed. “Please. I’m the best tracker in the family and you practically have a bat-signal on your back at the best of times.”

Derek would take issue with that, but they’re in public and arguing with Peter in public is never worth it. He’ll say anything to win. “Okay, fine. _Why_ did you find me?”

“Family business, Derek. I’m trying to offer you a hand here. He’s never done this before, and you’ve never been on this side of it.”

Derek pushes his empty plate away, puts his hands on the table. “He’s not your family. He’s fine. We’re fine.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

Derek glares at him. “Really.”

He can’t explain it; he just doesn’t want Peter near Isaac. He never does, if he can help it. But especially not now, not when Isaac’s vulnerable in this way. 

Peter looks at him and sees something that gets him shaking his head. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Derek says stubbornly.

Peter makes an impatient noise. “You can’t do _nothing_. The boy’s going to go crazy. It’s already getting worse, isn’t it? Each time?”

Derek says nothing, looking out to the parking lot. A man and a woman are fighting next to a pickup truck. He starts sliding out of the booth.

“Don’t let him suffer,” Peter says, “especially not on your account. If this is too hard for you, then let me help.”

Derek gets up. “You never want to help,” he snaps. “Why are you so interested in helping now?”

“Because,” Peter says, quite calmly, “you don’t have a damn clue what you’re doing.”

Fumbling for enough bills to cover his tab, Derek says, “Do I ever?”

“That doesn’t help your case here, Derek.”

“I don’t care.” Derek drops two twenties, which will be a hell of a tip, but with his luck Peter will take it all and then he’ll be known as the town murderer and the town cheapskate. He puts his empty coffee mug on top of the money, like that will stop Peter. “Leave us alone.”

Peter sighs at the spoon he’s still holding. “Oh, Isaac. It’s going to be a long couple of years for you.”

Derek ignores that, leaving Peter there to stare at his own reflection in the spoon.

*

He has to walk by Isaac’s room on the way to his own. He’s expecting a soundly shut door, the echo of anger and resentment hanging there. Instead, Isaac’s door is only partially shut and the room smells like burnt-up dust from the lamp, just turned off.

Derek can hear Isaac’s breathing, too quick for him to be asleep, but he’s holding his body still, pretending, so Derek only pauses at his doorframe before continuing on to bed.

*

In the middle of the night, Isaac crawls into bed with him, hot-skinned and shivering.

Derek pushes at him, still mostly asleep, but Isaac holds on. 

"I feel like shit," he croaks miserably. His breath smells, old meat and pheromones.

Derek holds him back until he doesn't feel like doing it anymore. Then he lets his elbows sag, lets Isaac in. Isaac crowds close, exhaling roughly. He presses his warm belly to Derek's, lets his pelvis rest on Derek's thigh.

"My joints hurt," he whispers.

"It's like the flu," Derek tells him.

"Sort of," Isaac murmurs. "Aches."

Derek nods. He remembers that, the fogginess, the bruised joints, the fever. He's glad it's not him. 

“When mine started,” he says, not sure why he’s saying it, “sometimes, I slept with my Mom. Or Peter. The body heat or something, it made me feel better.”

Isaac pushes in a little more, so he can rest his chin near Derek's armpit. 

"Thanks," he says quietly, his breath warming a patch on Derek's shirt.

Derek's tired enough that he doesn't really want to, but he remembers so he rubs Isaac, slow and hard, from the nape of his neck up to the crown of his head. Isaac sighs and goes tense, then lets it go, slumping against Derek. Derek keeps doing it.

When Isaac's just about out, Derek carefully, gently, pinches Isaac's nape between two knuckles, tugging once. Isaac whimpers, turns into it.

Derek lets go. He hadn't meant that. It was old habit, instinct. He lowers his hand, brings his stiff palm against Isaac's shoulder instead, closing his eyes against the sight of Isaac's sleeping, pleased face. He spends the time until he falls asleep ignoring Isaac's erection.

*

He wakes up before Isaac too. It’s work to slip away from Isaac and the mess in the sheets under Isaac, but he does it without waking Isaac, grimacing the whole time.

He makes it to the kitchen, and the coffee machine. The caffeine won't do much for him, but he likes the taste and the normalcy of it. 

Looking out the window at the street, Derek plans his day. There's nothing much to fill it beyond looking for the Alpha pack and trying to ignore Isaac. Even _thinking_ about staying away hurts a part of Derek, but it's for the best. It's just a thing to do, he tells himself, getting down a mug. He fills it up, and goes to the fridge. The right thing.

They're out of milk, as usual. Derek looks at the empty space for it in the fridge, trying to remember when he last bought some. Instead, he remembers a million other times: Isaac's head tipped back, forefinger and thumb balancing the jug of milk while he drinks. Derek hates it, but stopped telling him to quit it months ago, so it’s his own damn fault.

He shuts the fridge and lifts his mug to his mouth. He can take his coffee black.

The table is covered in papers and flyers, like the fridge, so Derek takes his coffee with him to his bedroom. Isaac is still sleeping, sweat dotting his hairline, blankets pulled up to his chin.

Derek puts his coffee on the dresser. The bitter-black smell of it helps keep him focused, cleans his head of the spiky, sweet smell of Isaac. He opens drawers methodically, pulling out things to wear, not caring what they are.

It's not until he's pulling his shorts off that he sees it: some of Isaac's semen dried on his leg, just a few little dots. Seeing it there suddenly brings it to life. Derek can smell it, sour because it’s dry, strong. It itches when he flexes. His vision goes red, and he has to hold onto the dresser, his claws stressing the wood. His deep, heaving breaths stir Isaac, who turns over and pushes up from his belly to his elbows.

Derek looks at him. Isaac's eyes widen sharply and his mouth drops open, a groan falling out, his head slipping down.

"Shut up," Derek tells him, feeling for the clothes he just picked. He dresses in record time, fingers rough with buttons, arms hard on stitches. 

Isaac just watches him, body held still.

"Stop," Derek growls at him as he walks by, meaning it. He leaves his half-finished coffee cooling and Isaac ready for him.

*

He catches his breath in the forest, where the only smells are grass and pine needles, safe smells. Then he walks until he comes out the other side, near to the heart of town. When he encounters people, some of them smell like arousal, but not like Isaac. It's all human and muted, under fingernails, behind teeth. Mostly they just smell like mornings, toast and newspaper ink.

Derek buys a new coffee at the 7-11, something foamy. He drinks it while he waits for the library to open.

*

He doesn't need to look anything up, or even really want to, but the library is one of the few places in town Derek can go without drawing much attention. People must know who he is, but if they care, they don't ask. Maybe he's finally just a guy reading a Western to them.

It’s a quiet day, long. Derek has trouble focusing on the novel. It’s not interesting and so his mind wanders. He wonders what Isaac is doing, if he’s even gotten out of bed yet, if he can. He might be sleeping again; he’s been doing that most times. 

Or, Derek thinks, paperback tense between his hands, he might not be. He’s been so good at ignoring the facts of it, the ways Isaac could make himself feel better. Derek can remember being wild with it, so rough on himself because there was no one else to help him feel good.

He stopped Isaac and that girl, which was the right thing to do, one of the right things to do, but it probably just made it worse for Isaac, being denied the pleasure of another person. Who knows how he’s handling it now.

Derek has to set the book down then, and his hands are gentle, more gentle than he’d be with Isaac.

*

Peter is sitting on the building’s steps when Derek walks up, jug of cold milk resting against his thigh.

He must bristle because Peter raises his hands a few inches off his knees. “The boy’s fine.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “What does _fine_ mean? What did you do?”

It’s Peter’s turn to bristle then. He stands up briskly, eyes cold. “Nothing. I didn’t do a thing to him. I watched over him, to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. The same way I watched over you.”

Derek barely flinches, but the memory breaks through the gauze all the same: Peter, forced to babysit. The little ones, of course, but Derek too, when the heats had started, when he’d been too out of his mind to watch himself.

It’s all too far away from Derek for him to remember if he was embarrassed then, but now his face heats. He rubs his forehead to hide it. When he looks up, Peter is watching him with concerned pity on his face.

“It happens to everyone,” he says. “And it was a long time ago. You were locked in your room.“

“Stop talking,” Derek growls, holding up his fingers. “I’d rather not remember any of that.”

“Have it your way,” Peter says, and steps to the side, waiting for Derek to open the door. He has his own keys, has undoubtedly used them today, but he waits.

Derek presses his key into the lock, then stops.

“Was Isaac locked in his room?” he asks slowly.

Beside him, Peter’s heart is as steady as a drum. “There’s no lock on his door.”

Derek presses his palm to the door. The wood is warm from the sun and he can’t hear Isaac inside.

“Get out,” he says, just as slowly. “Leave. Now.” Isaac isn’t Peter’s nephew. He’s just a boy whose body is begging him to get fucked. Peter has no reason to hold back.

When he looks over, Peter’s lips are pursed. Derek’s eyes are red; he can feel how hot they are.

Peter gives him a dark look, but steps back from the door. “Be careful,” he warns.

Derek stares at the door until Peter is gone, too far away to interfere, before he opens the door.

*

The closet is open, shoes spilling out. Derek's favourite jacket is on the ground, the hanger it came off of sticking cock-eyed between the others. Like Isaac pulled it off in a hurry, then abandoned it. Derek picks it up carefully. It smells like Isaac, his tears and spit. The collar is damp, dented with toothmarks.

He tosses the jacket into the closet, moving from one smell to another. The whole loft smells like Isaac. Every breath Derek takes fills his lungs with the hot, dark smell of him. Sometimes it seems like he can smell individual smells, sweat, semen, skin, but everything compresses in his mouth and nose. It makes Derek’s jaw ache and his spine go straight.

He’s still holding the milk, the cold plastic jug handle anchoring him. He presses it against his thigh. Distantly, he’s aware that his fangs are out. The roots of his teeth ache in a way they haven’t since he was a kid, since this was him smelling like this. He pants around them.

Isaac is nearby; his smell gets stronger with every step, and Derek can hear his heart and his breathing. He doesn’t call out to Isaac though; instead he stalks softly on instinct, using his senses to find Isaac. There’s not far to go. Isaac is on the bed in the front room, the one they lifted from someone’s yard.

He’s half-dressed, his shirt up to his armpits, his pants to his knees, stretched out to his full length. One heel is in the sheet, bracing his body, easing the passage of his full-body hitches. His hand is around his cock and it’s wet. He’s wet, thin come striping all up his torso. His mouth is still open around his orgasm, his eyes closed in pleasure.

And the _smell_ of him. It’s so thick and vital, suddenly everything Derek’s ever wanted to smell. It’s so good Derek’s fingers go nerveless, the plastic jug of milk hitting the floor and exploding. It sprays all over, creamy-cold smell colliding with the smell of Isaac’s heat, attracting Isaac’s attention.

Isaac opens his eyes and they’re gold. His mouth drops open too. His teeth are still blunt but he sticks his tongue out, tasting the air, whatever scent Derek’s giving off in return for the heat.

“Derek,” he gasps, arching. He squeezes the base of his cock, and more come leaks out of the tip, slides down onto his index finger. Isaac pulls his hand away slowly, dropping it onto his belly, the soft part of it, the low down vulnerable, messy part. 

His mouth is open and his whole face has lit up, with a blush, but more than that. He's looking at Derek like finally something good has happened to him. Like he's been waiting and this is his reward.

Struggling up to his elbows, he says, "Derek," again, asking.

"What are you doing?" Derek barks, because he feels hot all over, on the edge of control.

Isaac sits up further. His shirt slides down into the mess on his chest, but he doesn't pay it any attention. His cock is still hard. He only looks at Derek.

"I had to," he blurts. "I--if I don't, it feels so bad. I feel hot and sick and doing it makes me feel so good." He swallows helplessly. "Better."

He's on his hands now, smearing come into the thin blanket on top of the mattress, speaking desperately. "I didn't want to - it's embarrassing - but I couldn't - and God, Peter was here-"

Derek can smell him, his sharp echo, here in the room. His claws catch on the side-seam of his jeans. "Did he do anything to you?"

Isaac looks away from his face for just a moment.

"Isaac!" 

"No!" Isaac exclaims, looking back at Derek. "He didn't! He said he didn't want me to get hurt. To hurt myself. He was just _here_ , but I wanted - it made it _worse_ , Derek."

So much relief falls onto Derek then, he has to turn away. When this was Derek, Peter only ever came into his room to give him food, wash his face, leave a gaudy purple shopping bag, and tell him it was almost over. But Peter now isn't like that, might not stop there.

He hears Isaac scrambling off the bed, breathing hard, his belt buckle clanking. He hears Isaac's hesitant steps, his dry mouth working even before he whispers, "I don't, I don't..."

He feels the movement of Isaac's arm moving before his hand lands on Derek's waist, steam-hot even though Derek's shirt. He tenses, body startled by that heat. Then Isaac leans against his back, arm tightening around Derek's belly to hold him still, his hot forehead against Derek's shoulder. His hips hitch against Derek, fitting instinctively. Derek stays stiff at a board, battling the urge to fight, and the urge to submit.

Isaac mouths at his shoulder. His hips move a little, jerking into Derek's shape. 

"I waited for you to come home," he sighs. "Please."

He slides his palm against Derek's jeans button, and Derek jerks away from him like he's on fire. Isaac gasps, curling into himself, like the cool touch of the air is too much.

"Don't," Derek tells him. "Isaac." His voice sounds soft, feels weak in his mouth.

When he turns, Isaac is standing up straight, hands at his sides, although it looks like it pains him to not touch himself, not touch Derek. His face looks determined. Much of the semen from his front is gone – smeared onto Derek’s back. Derek can’t feel it, but still he prickles with the knowledge of it being there. Everything still smells like Isaac, and now he must too.

Panicking, he takes a step backward, breathing so hard he can smell himself, his sweat tangled up with Isaac’s.

“Isaac, we can’t.” He steps back again, and Isaac follows. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“You are,” Isaac insists, his hands raised for Derek, “you can help me.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says wildly, shaking his head, even as his body sings for him to go to Isaac, to take care of him in that way. He turns, stumbling for the door. Isaac follows him again, fingers touching his shirt, the top of his belt. The touch makes his fingers traitorously loose on the doorknob. It takes several tries for him to open it and his sweaty fingers slip.

He opens the door an inch, and that lets just enough new air into the apartment that Derek can breathe before he turns, forcing Isaac back into the entry way with a hard palm. Isaac staggers back, but doesn’t try to brace himself, just holds his hands out to Derek.

“Stay here!” He begs Derek, face crumpling, as he slams the door. He fumbles for his keys but it’s too hard to make them fit in the door so he just leaves, praying Isaac will stay where he’s safe.

*

There’s too much inside of Derek’s head for him to make a conscious decision about where to go, but his body knows how to run, and where it feels safest, so he’s under the cover of the trees before he knows it.

He doesn’t make it as far as the old house, but he comes close. The smell of ash fills his nose when he finally stops, goes to his knees. He rips his shirt off, to get rid of the smell. He’s panting, lungs burning, legs shaky now that he’s stopped. Still, his stomach is turning and his body is aching in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

He puts his hand to the ground, makes a fist. First his claws dig into the sun-baked earth, before scraping his skin. Then, bringing his palm to his mouth, Derek inhales the heavy smell of the dirt there, his eyes half-closed, trying like hell to hold on.

*

After a while, Derek starts to feel normal again, more in control. He’s still sitting shirtless and dirt-smudged on a rock in the woods, but he can breathe and think more clearly. He holds his phone in one hand. It vibrates every once in a while; mostly it’s Isaac’s name that comes up, but once it’s Peter. Derek doesn’t answer that; Isaac is his to look after, and he hasn’t lost his pride. That’s fine, but it’s harder to ignore Isaac. Eventually he drops his phone in the leaves. It was making his hand numb, holding it so tightly.

He tries to think of what to do, how he can get them out of this without failing Isaac, but only one option comes to mind. And when he thinks about it, everything gets cloudy and sweet and urgent.

A deer wanders by, pausing to eat some grass. It looks at Derek with black eyes, and darts away when he stands. He crouches to get his phone, and looks over at his shirt, crumpled on a log. Even dry, it still smells ripe. He leaves it behind.

He takes the long way home, looping around the house, walking slow, watching his feet like he might trip. He stays away from the path; kids use these woods after school for whatever. He knows what he looks like: arms dirty, chest sweaty, dazed all over. Animal.

Still, he’s home before he feels ready, sidling in the door, closing it lightly behind himself. He pauses then, looking down at the lock. There’s still time, he knows, there will always be time, to call Peter, to pawn Isaac off on him, or Scott if he feels cruel. But it doesn’t feel like it.

He locks the door, slides the deadbolt into place. Then he covers his mouth and nose with one of his dirty palms, breathing that in instead of Isaac.

There’s still milk all over the floor, warming slowly, catching dust. Derek steps around it on his way toward the stairs. 

Isaac is sitting at the kitchen table, his hands folded. His head whips up when Derek walks by the doorway, and he stands hurriedly. He’s dressed, and has washed himself. Derek takes one look at him before inhaling hard and walking away.

Still, he feels it, the soft tug of a needy body. He can feel Isaac trailing him from a safe distance, until he gets into his room and shuts the door.

His bed is bare, blankets and pillows pushed to the floor, the mattress skinned of its sheets. Everything is probably languishing in the washing machine now, forgotten in the shuffle. Not that it matters. Derek can smell Isaac on the mattress.

Sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, Derek stares at the door. He’s hyperaware of Isaac just outside, there in the hallway, his body calm for now. Derek digs his fingers into the mattress when Isaac tries the knob.

It doesn’t go far, and Isaac only tries it the once. Derek loosens his grip slowly, still watching the door, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does. Isaac moves away reluctantly, his spicy smell going cold with rejection. Relieved but hurting, Derek lays back, thankful that even if he couldn’t ever make himself put a lock on Isaac’s door, he put one on his own.

*

Twice that evening, Isaac’s smell spikes, going from hot and dirty to a fever-pitch rush of wet-spicy as Isaac gets himself off, then back again. When Derek smells that, hears Isaac whimpering in the living room, he wants so badly all his senses dim. It’s hell, being locked in here with no one to touch.

The sound of the television and smell of whatever Isaac cooks for dinner do nothing to distract from the feeling. Derek tries to read, but the words on the pages are meaningless, blurring into soft smudges every time Derek senses Isaac. Finally, he just lies back on the scratchy mattress and closes his eyes, fighting back the urge to move.

The moon rises; Derek feels that too. Feels it then feels Isaac coming up the stairs, stopping outside Derek’s room.

“Please,” Isaac whispers. His nails scrape over the outside of Derek’s door. “Derek, please let me in.”

Derek groans at the sound of him, soft and hurting. Isaac sighs shakily.

“Just…just let me sleep with you,” he says. It sounds like he’s pressed to the door. 

Derek is sweating, half-hard. 

“Please,” Isaac asks again. “Just let me sleep with you.”

The lock is cold under Derek’s sweaty fingers, so cold, but opening the door is the easiest thing in the world.

*

He washes his face and arms in the bathroom. He trembles the whole time, his stomach twisted, feeling hungry-hollow. 

In the bedroom, Isaac has stripped down to his boxers. He's got his back to Derek, and even in the low light Derek can see the scrapes on his back from rubbing on something. His elbow is moving, chugging in slow, soothing circles.

Derek puts his hand out for the door, intending to close up the room, lock them in here under Isaac’s heat. But there’s cool air coming in, sliding over his feet, and there’s no one to see them, no one to protect from the truth of it, inside this room or out. He leaves the door, pushing it back until it bumps the jamb.

Isaac turns to Derek when Derek unbuttons his jeans. The front of his underwear are wet in a small line. He lifts his hand from his cock, but it doesn’t go far, just clenches in the leg of his boxers, showing the thickness of his cock. There’s redness on his belly too. Nail scratches, it looks like.

“I,” Isaac says, stepping into Derek’s space. The heat is incredible, clogging up Derek’s pores, filling his mouth and nose. The wolf inside of Derek is ravenous, aching to fuck and dominate. The human aches for Isaac and alongside him.

Isaac’s fingers skate over his wrist. He clear his throat, says, “I need you.”

He grips Derek’s elbow, swaying in until his forehead is on Derek’s shoulder.

“It hurts,” he whispers, begging, his lips kissing against Derek’s throat. “Help me.”

Derek puts his hand in Isaac’s soft hair, touching his hair, his scalp, before he makes a fist, pulling Isaac’s head back.

He looks Isaac in the eye, until Isaac drops his eyes, straining to show Derek his pulse. Derek drops his hair, only to hold his shoulders. He presses a hard kiss to the corner of Isaac’s mouth, and shoves him back.

“Yes,” Isaac says, stumbling back onto the bed, climbing up the mattress on his elbows. He spreads his legs, showing Derek his belly, his throat, his hard cock. He skims off his boxers, and there’s even more skin to look at. 

Derek looks him over. If he thought he was out of control before, now he feels like he just got spit out of a hurricane. There are unexpected spots of heat all over him: his neck, his armpits, the small of his back. His whole face feels like he's standing too close to a raging fire.

He hits his knees, the mattress springs creaking in complaint, sliding up Isaac’s body. He nips Isaac’s jaw, breathing in his scent, letting that get him hard enough to start rubbing off against Isaac, who moans, his body rolling into Derek’s. He grasps at Derek with clumsy hands, feeling his shoulders, his forearms, his ass. He never settles anywhere though, always touching the next part of Derek, unable to get enough.

Derek grabs his jaw, cupping the curve of it roughly.

“What do you need?” he asks Isaac.

Isaac groans, arching, showing Derek all of his throat.

“What?” Derek asks again, then leans down to set his teeth over Isaac’s Adam’s apple, sucking on his hitching swallow. Isaac shivers, grabbing at his hair. He pushes Derek down, arching up into his biting mouth.

Derek leaves marks, bright and red, all over Isaac’s torso, tasting his heat, learning the way his body has changed, is changing. Isaac makes noises every time Derek’s teeth hit, low, gut-born noises. He sounds surprised each time.

The last bite is a nip to Isaac’s belly. The bright, light taste of precome coats his tongue and when Isaac arches into it, his cock slaps against the bitemark, leaving another spot of shininess.

“Please,” Isaac says, turning his thighs out, putting himself on display. He grasps uselessly at Derek, pulling, then pushing.

Derek pins his arms, surges over him, forcing Isaac into place with his body. Isaac hooks around him, so out of his mind with lust he just clamps on, humping into Derek, just looking to get off, feel better.

They rut like that, bodies locked, until Isaac whines, forcing a hand between them. He wraps it around his cock, squeezing tight, then starting to fuck. His hand moves fast but his hips are awkward, jerky without leverage

His face screws up, frustrated. “I need—“ he starts, legs flexing under Derek. Still, precome slides down his cock.

“Yeah,” Derek says stupidly. Getting off Isaac is torture, even if all the does is move to the side. He helps Isaac up with rough hands, sets him on his knees. Isaac doesn’t need any other help. He starts jerking off, his mouth gaping open, lifting his hips into his fist. Doing it right.

Derek touches his arms, the flaring push of his hips, the tenderness of his mouth. Derek rubs over Isaac’s mouth, pushes his fingers in. Isaac sucks once, then just pants, drool coating Derek’s fingers, collecting between them. 

He bites Derek as his hips start jerking out of rhythm, lightly at first, then harder, still with blunt human teeth. It hurts, but Derek’s so keyed up it feels good. He pulls his fingers out, smearing Isaac’s chin with spit, holding him still while he starts to come.

Isaac cries out, his voice breaking. He braces himself on the mattress and fucks his fist roughly, doing the best he can to give his body what it needs. His come is runny, smelling like the sourness of an early heat.

It makes Derek groan. He wants something – _anything_ \- so bad his skin prickles. The wolf is close to the surface, ready to take over, mate Isaac like he so clearly needs.

Isaac is hunched over, still making heavy noises, wringing the last thin drops out of his cock, so it’s easy to slide back against him.

He pushes on Isaac’s lower back, puts his hot palm there. Isaac whimpers urgently, arching into it, then dipping his back down, unsure if he likes it, if he wants to be mounted. 

There will be time to teach Isaac about the good feelings that come from submitting, so Derek leaves it, lets his hand cup the curve of Isaac’s thigh, run up to the hip. He jerks himself off, touching the place he bit. He can remember that perfectly, folding Isaac’s shirt up, one hand holding Isaac’s ribs, one holding his knees, Isaac’s shocked cry when Derek’s teeth had sunk into him. How Isaac had let Derek wipe the tears and sweat off his face after, his heart running wild but looking at Derek like he was the most powerful thing on the planet.

Derek grunts, rubbing the sensitive wet tip of his cock on the back of Isaac’s thigh. It’s a good memory, powerful for him, visceral enough that he leaves a wet patch on Isaac’s skin. 

Isaac squirms, his knees skidding apart on the mattress, panting Derek’s name. Derek presses in further, his cockhead tucked in the hot space between Isaac’s thighs, sliding on his sweat. Isaac gasps, jerking away from that feeling on instinct. Derek doesn’t let him go far, his claws catch, digging into Isaac’s hip.

Isaac makes a high, scared-sounding noise.

“Shh,” Derek says, raspy, “it’s good. You’re good. You’re doing a good job, Isaac. I’m—“ He half-bends over Isaac, feeling gut-punched. “Is this helping?”

Isaac gasps, touching his red cheek to his bicep. He nods, looking pained. “ _Derek_ ,” he whimpers, giving in, arching his back, spreading his thighs for Derek.

Derek’s fist strips his cock. He’s so ready for it his spine aches. He can feel the bleed, his precome on Isaac’s sweaty skin, the mental lines between them blurring, his memories starting to slide into Isaac. He digs in harder, arches against Isaac as he presses back and everything crashes. He comes into the soft crease of Isaac’s leg and everything he has, all his heat memories, everything he knows about Isaac, slams down into Isaac, filling him up.

His muscles coil so tight he hurts all over, and it takes him a while to finish, shaking like this is his heat. He has to resist the urge to rub all over Isaac, cover his heat-smell with Derek’s. It’s long seconds before he can finally kneel back, drop his softening cock. When he lets go of Isaac, his fingers come away bloody, although the wounds don’t bleed more than that, already slowly sealing.

Without him, Isaac slumps down awkwardly, hips still held up, but his cheek hitting the mattress. His breath is still coming fast, gaspy, even though his cock is soft. His fists curl uselessly and his leg twitches, reacting to the rush of memory he owns now, the surge of heat-endorphins.

Derek has to take hold of his hips to guide him down to his belly. Isaac goes, barely makes a noise. He lets Derek move his arms, tug his legs down, wipe curious fingers between his thighs, smearing semen over the sleekness of his skin. 

He smells good, warm-satiated, salty from the semen, obedient. Derek has trouble pulling his hands away. He wants to rub Isaac all over, gentle him down and then work him back up again, and again, until he’s done. It feels like the right thing to do, and pulling back from the urge is so hard.

He gets up slowly, like he's old. His body feels worn out, too-sweaty with breaking heat. On the bed, Isaac shivers, tense. His eyes are closed, but they're moving, racing through all of Derek's memories, the things Derek remembered but didn’t tell him, the things he couldn’t remember well enough.

Derek gets the blanket from the floor for Isaac. He covers Isaac up, pausing to cup the side of his head. Then he puts his jeans on, hitching his hips, grunting quietly. Isaac turns his dazed face to the sound. Derek thumbs the fading roundness of his cheek until he settles back down again.

The open door means he can slip out of the room, and down into the first floor quietly. Down here, the house feels unfamiliar now, empty, cool. 

The milk is still there, drying into a yellow crust. Derek wrinkles his nose at the smell of it while he cleans. He wipes the floor until it’s wet under his feet, but the milk smell isn't gone. This patch of floor will smell creamy-sour for a long time to come.

He closes the windows, one by one, ending with the one in his bedroom. He looks out at Beacon Hills, at all the human lights far away from the dark, safe nest right here. Derek closes the blinds, to keep those lights out for a while longer.

In the bed, Isaac’s heart is beating slowly. Derek's still careful when he gets in, gentle when he puts an arm around Isaac, pulls him close. Isaac is cold, his skin damp and goosebumped in places. He opens his eyes once, looking bleary, his left cheek rashy from the mattress.

Derek rubs his dry back, squeezing whatever skin he can reach. Isaac’s mouth opens softly on a whimper, too tired for more tonight.

"You're all right," Derek whispers, before tucking his head down. Isaac turns into him, hips first, his cock just barely firm now against Derek, following with his wet mouth against Derek’s shoulder. He slips back to sleep against Derek, their shared heat soothing him.

*

It’s long past sunrise when Isaac wakes up. Still sleepy, he rolls into a stretch against Derek, fitting his stiffening cock against Derek, putting his weight into it. He presses his face into Derek’s shoulder, snorting the smell of him, stilling. Then he rips back, landing on his back, cupping his crotch. His eyes are clear and they go wide with confusion and fear. He jerks abortively, then goes stiff.

“It’s all right,” Derek tells him, his voice scratchy. He still feels satisfied, deeply so, although he imagines that will change with time. He leans in, touches Isaac’s elbow, a safe place. Isaac practically vibrates under the touch, his smell hot and confused. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Isaac says, his voice sticky, shy. He inches back. “I. I should go,” he whispers. He gets up on shaky legs, his hand still against his cock, goes to the shower. He’s not in there long and comes out smelling barely cleaner than he went in. He looks so uncertain standing there, in a towel, bites on his chest and red dimples around his hip, that Derek goes out to the kitchen, to avoid taking him back to bed.

He starts a pot of coffee, lets the smell come to him, fill the kitchen. He opens the fridge, closes it without getting anything.

He’s blowing on his coffee to cool it when Isaac slinks down the hall, wearing too many clothes. He has to lean against the wall to put on his shoes and he grimaces, slow to heal when he’s like this.

He has his hand on the doorknob when Derek says, “Isaac.”

His back goes snap-tense and he drops his head, just breathing. Waiting to be called back for more. Wanting it, deep down. He looks back, just glances, eyes dark. His mouth is red, sore-looking.

Derek should tell him to not be sorry, that it was natural, that they helped each other. That Isaac doesn’t have to do it alone, and Derek was wrong to try and make him do it that way. But that’s a lot to say, a lot of words people said to Derek a long time ago, but that he’s not sure how to say to Isaac yet.

Instead, “Get some milk,” Derek asks him. “We’re out.”

Isaac presses his lips together, and turns away, goes out the door. He closes it softly after himself.

Under the coffee smell, Derek can smell Isaac, the hot blood smell of him that’s waned, but isn’t gone yet. A part of him wants Isaac back _now_ , because it’s not finished, because Isaac is his. But Derek’s stronger than that; remembers how lucidity brings shame, an intense longing for things to be smooth and normal. He wants Isaac to feel normal, know this is normal, will be normal for them. And, he knows, listening to Isaac’s keys jangling in his pocket, that Isaac will be back, when he’s ready.


End file.
